


i'm no good at lip service [except when they're yours]

by pagan_mint



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 4
Genre: Ajay is Good and Pure, M/M, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, nap time to sexy time, not quite as smutty as tags may imply, sabal is a horny bastard, sabal may have some kind of fixation with ajay's mouth, sabal's not quite as much of an asshole as usual and ajay gets a happy ending, sleeping together (literal and figurative), sleepy smooches, something actually shippy for once, sort of, they make out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 22:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6772129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pagan_mint/pseuds/pagan_mint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fic prompt (from unknown source): <em>we slept in the same bed for space reasons but now we’re just waking up and there’s something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair</em></p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Somewhere outside, nowhere near enough to be of concern, a pack of dholes chatters as it makes its way down the mountain. A light breeze rustles the flowering bushes outside, slipping through a crack in the nearby window and ghosting through the safehouse. As it touches Ajay, he unconsciously shrinks away from it, perhaps already asleep; he must be, because if he was not, he would recoil from the way his muscular back presses against Sabal’s solid chest, from how his leg stretches out and tangles with the Golden Path leader’s. Sabal feels the weight of Ajay’s calf resting on his, and it is heavier than physically possible. He tries to tell himself that his mind is exaggerating every sensation, but then Ajay hitches his hips back from the edge of the bed and the older man abruptly drops every attempt at rational thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm no good at lip service [except when they're yours]

**Author's Note:**

> Title lyrics from "Irresistible" by Fall Out Boy

The safehouse is tiny, but it's also the only one for miles, and it has a bed and some canned food. Sabal and Ajay split the latter; near the end of their meal, Sabal stifles a yawn, bringing the back of his hand up to cover his mouth.

"You can take the bed," Ajay says immediately, like he's been waiting for the right moment to suggest it. "Someone needs to stay on watch anyway, and I'm not that tired. Besides, I'm used to it, so - "

"Ajay," Sabal interrupts him, rising to his feet. Ajay gets up too, the action only half-conscious; Sabal watches it with a hooded flicker of appreciation at the unintentional show of obeisance. "Come to bed."

There's a pause, and then Ajay's eyes go wide and he blurts out, " _No_. I mean - it's not safe. One of has to - "

"We're on the top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere," Sabal reminds him. He keeps his voice soft, but maintains the undertone of authority that he's noticed Ajay responds increasingly well to. "Besides which, we are both trained fighters. We will hear any threat well before it is upon us. Now," and he turns slightly to gesture to the bed, "let's get some sleep."

Ajay stares at the twin mattress. "I don't think we'll both fit," he says weakly. Sabal shakes his head.

"We can. We'll be close, but there's no fireplace in here, so it will help keep us warm. Which is important, considering our altitude." So saying, he shrugs off his jacket; it would have helped as an extra layer, but it's dirty, and he doesn't want to sully the blankets. "Finish your food, then come join me."

Draping his jacket over the only chair in the room, Sabal moves to sit on the bed and leans down to unlace his boots. While doing so, he glances over at Ajay, huffing out a short breath to blow his hair out of his face. The son of Mohan hasn’t moved; he’s shoveling food into his mouth, almost on autopilot, and the sight of his obedience makes something twinge pleasantly in Sabal’s chest. It’s one thing to know that someone will do anything you tell them to do, and another to see it happening.

Lying down, Sabal rolls over until his back is against the wall, giving him a view of the remaining expanse of the bed and the rest of the room. He’s spent too many years as a rebel soldier to face the wall when he sleeps, and he doesn’t even think to bother with the blanket; sharing a bed with Ajay will provide him with enough warmth, and if anything does happen during the night, the blanket will just be a hindrance. Allowing himself a small, satisfied smile, the leader of the Golden Path lets out a quiet breath and closes his eyes.

Sabal doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he’s awake as soon as he feels pressure on the mattress. Without moving or opening his eyes, he finds himself paying avid attention to every breath and movement as Ajay gently lies down on the bed next to him. It’s obvious that the younger man is trying to leave some space between them, but the bed doesn’t really allow for that; even with Sabal on his side and pressed up against the wall like he is, there’s barely enough room for Ajay to lie down in a similar position. But the son of Mohan manages it like he manages everything, wriggling about slightly and then stilling.

Sabal doesn’t open his eyes, instead taking in the heavy sensation of a body next to his on the bed. Keeping his eyes closed allows him to be more aware of everything – the weight of Ajay’s body, his breathing as it slows and deepens, his heat suffusing the mattress. There’s the smell of him, too; a little sweaty and dusty, but also strangely sweet. It’s a scent that reminds Sabal of the cherry blossoms scattered throughout Kyrat; he thinks it’s the body wash that Ajay brought with him from America, since this is not the first time the smell has been noticeable. Perhaps the fact that the scent lingers is indicative of Ajay not being as judicious as he could about rinsing it off, but that in and of itself is endearing – the younger man is trying to be sparing in his usage of water, which is precious to Kyrat and to the Golden Path.

Somewhere outside, nowhere near enough to be of concern, a pack of dholes chatters as it makes its way down the mountain. A light breeze rustles the flowering bushes outside, slipping through a crack in the nearby window and ghosting through the safehouse. As it touches Ajay, he unconsciously shrinks away from it, perhaps already asleep; he must be, because if he was not, he would recoil from the way his muscular back presses against Sabal’s solid chest, from how his leg stretches out and tangles with the Golden Path leader’s. Sabal feels the weight of Ajay’s calf resting on his, and it is heavier than physically possible. He tries to tell himself that his mind is exaggerating every sensation, but then Ajay hitches his hips back from the edge of the bed and the older man abruptly drops every attempt at rational thought.

_Kyra_ , he prays desperately, _free my mind from impurity. Give me strength and bring me swiftly to sleep._

After a long moment, he adds, _please_.

*

Ajay wakes up just as the light outside shifts from the blue-black of Kyrati night to the blue-gray of Kyrati dawn. At first, he is surprised to find that he is still on the bed; he had halfway planned to end up on the floor at some point, since he’d made a point of lying on the very edge of the bed in an attempt to give Sabal as much space as possible. Hell, he would have been fine with sleeping on the floor if Sabal had wanted the bed to himself, but the leader of the Golden Path had insisted that they share it.

The second thing that surprises him is the discovery that he is very much on the bed, and being kept there by an arm locked around his waist. On instinct, he presses against it, trying to sit up; this is when the third surprise comes, as the arm tightens and then _pulls_. Given little choice in the matter, Ajay rolls over onto his back, stifling a startled yelp. He half expects to collide with Sabal, but instead finds himself staring up at the man. The leader of the Golden Path has propped himself up on one arm so that he can look down at Ajay, an unreadable expression smoldering behind his green eyes.

“Uh,” Ajay starts, not sure what to say or what’s going on. “G – good morning. How did you sleep?”

“I didn’t,” Sabal responds. His statement is supported by the roughness of his voice, edged sharply with exhaustion and something else. Ajay frowns up at him, confused and distracted – confused because he can’t pinpoint exactly what the “something else” is, and distracted because Sabal in the morning is an entirely different animal from Sabal at any other time. His dark hair has come loose from his ponytail at some point in the night, tumbling down across high cheekbones in careless waves. His eyes are bruised and darkened from the apparent lack of sleep, and he’s caught a corner of his lower lip between his teeth in an uncharacteristic display of anxious body language. Ajay’s gaze travels lower, noticing the shadows that Sabal’s rumpled shirt casts on his neck and collarbone. He can see the older man’s pulse beating in the dip at the base of his throat, and without thinking he brings up his hand to lay his fingers on it.

Sabal catches it before Ajay can touch him, curling his own fingers into Ajay’s wrist in a grasp that is firm, but not tight. Ajay stares at the older man’s hand on his skin, able to feel every throb of his own pulse beneath the pressure of Sabal’s calloused grip.

“Why?” Ajay asks finally, unable to think of anything else to say. Sabal inhales sharply at that, because there’s no way the son of Mohan can know how he looks when he asks that question – the word slightly slurred, his eyes wide but unfocused since he’s still waking up, his lips curled slightly up in an unconscious smile.

“Because last night, you were impossible,” Sabal murmurs. His thumb begins to rub gently along the inside of Ajay’s wrist. “I didn’t think it could happen, but this morning, you’re worse.”

Ajay retreats immediately from that, translating Sabal’s previously unreadable expressions and body language as disappointment and anger. Almost imperceptibly pressing himself back into the bed, he drops his gaze again.

“I’m sorry, I – I was asleep. Whatever I did, or said, I – ”

Sabal interrupts him in a voice ragged with heat and emotion. “Kyra forgive me,” he bites out, and before a startled Ajay can ask him _for what_ , he’s pressing the younger man down into the cheap mattress with a fevered kiss.

Ajay makes a startled noise into his mouth that Sabal swallows with a growl of his own, almost animalistic in its intensity. His grip on Ajay’s wrist tightens briefly; then the bed shakes as he swings his leg over Ajay, essentially pinning him down. The son of Mohan makes another noise that is far closer to a moan than a yelp this time, abruptly aware of a number of sensations of varying pleasantness. Some are soft, like the feeling of Sabal’s lips on his; some are hard, like the place where Sabal’s hips are pressing his own into the bed.

When Sabal breaks away to inhale, Ajay blurts out his name. It sounds as breathless as the older man feels, corded with the particular slight anxiety that seems to be a hallmark of the son of Mohan.

“Sabal,” he gasps. The leader of the Golden Path expects him to say something else – a rebuttal, a justification, a confession of reciprocated feelings – but instead Ajay just smiles and repeats his name, this time with a kind of worshipful awe that makes the blood run hot in the older man’s veins. “ _Sabal_.”

“I’m here,” he says, bowing down to press his forehead against Ajay’s. “I’m right here.”

“Is this really happening? Are you – do you want – _me_?” Ajay asks, his voice full of hesitation and everything else he’s not saying. _Me, out of everyone. You could have anyone, I’m sure there are people who want you, but –_

“Yes,” Sabal says. His voice is firm and confident, the word a statement of fact that he seals with another kiss. “ _Yes_ ,” this time murmured against the corner of Ajay’s mouth.

“Oh. Okay,” Ajay responds, his voice barely more than a whisper – but Sabal can hear it perfectly well, can feel the words being said as the other man’s lips move against his. “As long as you’re sure.”

Sabal laughs at that, a sharp bark of sound that fills the safehouse. “Dear boy,” he says. The pet name should have been patronizing, but his adoring tone makes it anything but. “ _Dear_ boy, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

“I doubt that,” Ajay chuckles, but even as he says the words, Sabal realizes with sense of sickening satisfaction that it’s true. He loves the Golden Path, he loves Kyrat and the goddess for which she is named, but the word hardly seems strong enough to explain how he feels with the son of Mohan underneath him and an unforeseeable future stretching out before them.

“Well then,” Sabal says, and his voice has dropped to a particular octave that Ajay usually only hears when the older man is angry. “I suppose I’ll just have to change your mind.”

*

Outside, a passing sherpa looks up in alarm when he hears a cry from the rarely used building. He starts to move towards it, but halts when a second cry rings out. He doesn’t recognize the voice, but he recognizes the tone, as well as the name it’s saying.

               “Ahh – _Sabal!_ ”

               Coughing, the sherpa readjusts his pack and continues on his way. There are some questions, he decides, that don’t need to be answered.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a kudos and/or a comment if you enjoyed! <3


End file.
